


Silk Thread and Silver Wire

by Lightpoint



Series: The Underwear Trash Compactor [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Consensual, Disturbing Themes, Don't Like Don't Read, F/M, Female Reader, Jealousy, Masturbation, Naboo Underwear Headcanons, Office Sex, Oral Sex, POV Second Person, Palpatine Wears a Lot of Layers, Power Dynamics, Reader Goes Back For Seconds, Reader is a bit obsessed, Reader-Insert, Semi-Public Sex, Underwear, Underwear Headcanon, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-10-04 01:05:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10263548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lightpoint/pseuds/Lightpoint
Summary: A Senate logistics aide can't get the memory of a brief tryst with Supreme Chancellor Palpatine out of her head. Weeks later, she takes matters into her own hands.





	

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Ok, this is slightly less cracky than 'Black Market Briefs,' but don't worry! There's still almost zero plot to be found!  
> 2\. Also, 'Y/N' is 'Your Name.' 'L/N' is 'Last Name,' meaning 'Your Last Name.' So a 'Jane Smith' Reader would read the following line thusly:
> 
> "Ms. L/N, " he murmurs, taking your hand. "Please, call me Y/N," you say, blushing.  
> The above would be:  
> "Ms. Smith," he murmurs, taking your hand. "Please, call me Jane," you say, blushing.
> 
> Just to keep the flow going ;)

**The original drabble from the Underwear Headcanon:**

He watches you, his smile surprisingly gentle as you fumble with his robe. All your research about Nabooian undergarments fell out of your head the second he walked you into his bedroom, his dark baritone rumbling with everything he was going to do to you. Finally he reaches down and helps.

"Sorry sir," you whisper, your face flaming. Chancellor Palpatine chuckles. 

"Practice makes perfect..." Long fingers twist in your hair. Turns out, tonight you only need to worry about the bottom layers.  
He likes you on your knees.

***********************************************************************************************************************************

 

Three weeks later you are about ready to scream. Keeping it secret is hard enough, even though you understand the reason. The sheer uproar if the Chancellor was caught dallying with a logistics aide…

And you would bear the brunt of it, too. Palpatine’s scandal-free career had, in your estimation, earned him at least one free pass when it came to the media. Oh, there’d be fireworks, certainly, but nobody would really hold it against him. 

_Your_ career (if not your life) would almost certainly be destroyed.

You flash back to the media firestorm that had ensued on your home world when the First Citizen had been caught with an intern. The last thing you wanted was for your life to be plastered all over the Galactic Inquirer. To be known for being That Girl Who Blew the Chancellor.

_I didn’t even get to…_

Well, _that_ was your own fault. 

You lose a step, need to just stop and lean against the wall as the hot flush blossoming on your cheeks spreads throughout your entire body. You reach up, run a shaking finger along your lips. 

To say that you’d been _surprised_ would be a truly spectacular understatement. Oral was something that you avoided, generally speaking. You grimace as you recall other (younger) males, and how they seemed to forget that you were there, once you sucked the tip past your teeth.

_Well, ‘forget’ is probably the wrong word…_

From a certain point of view, it was extremely satisfying to watch all conscious thought bleed from their eyes. You’d always found it strange, how someone could abandon themselves like that, when their most vulnerable parts were a thin stretch of lip and skin away from _pain._

You grew up in the Midlevels. You know what whores do to non-paying customers. Your own mother had told you the secret, told you what to do if someone tried to force you.

_Offer your mouth. They’ll usually go for it. And if there’s more than one…well…nothing like a nice, bloody smile to cool ‘em off._

Fortunately, you’d never had to resort to _that._ But, once or twice, when your partner dug nails into your jaw, ignored your tugging on his trousers, and gazed off somewhere past your face…You’d think about it. 

Just think. It helped, remembering just how much damage you could do. 

Not enough to be worth it, though.

But that night, when your sudden nervousness got the better of you, the intricate ties and fasteners of the Chancellor’s robes locking him away better than durasteel chains…He’d taken your hand in one of his and guided you from clasp to thread and lock. The other hand twined in your hair. You’d tensed, waiting for him to _dig,_ but instead he’d _stroked,_ humming contentedly as your long hair slid between his fingers. The warm pressure soothed your nerves enough for you to nudge him backwards to the bed. You even managed a flirtatious smile as you pressed on his thighs, bidding him to sit.

The Plan had been to remove the complex outer robes, make it to the mid-layer, and then start in on your own clothing. If all went well, you’d both end up naked around the same time. You’d have some element of control. But then you knelt between his legs and your fingers found his skin, and your strategy blew out of your head just as completely as the Naboo clothing diagrams...

A sudden swell in conversation brings you back to the present. You suck in a breath, flushing hotly, and pray that no Jedi or telepathic beings were present. You push off the wall and take a careful step, avoiding the eyes of a passing Weequay. 

You have three hours to go until you can get the hell out of the office and run, _run your ass off,_ back to your apartment and either take the galaxy’s coldest shower or find out if your Life Day present to yourself still worked. 

_With my luck, it’s probably out of batteries,_ you think. 

You’d been single long enough to know how to get the job done on your own, but…You knew it wouldn’t be enough. Cold, smooth silicone wouldn’t pass for the hot flesh that you could practically _taste,_ the memory was so vivid…You grimace, frustrated with yourself. 

_Now is not the time for this!_ If you didn’t get your head on straight soon, people were going to notice. You knew there were species out there that could sense human pheromones…

_Kriff it._

You tap your supervisor on the shoulder and mumble something about a forgotten datacard and catching an early skycar. Lost in an argument with an IT tech, he waves you away, with vague instructions about leaving Palpatine’s office the way you found it, and to have a nice weekend. 

You all but run to the lift, and key in your security code for the Chancellor’s section of the building. You’d head back to your office, splash some cold water on your face, screw up your courage and get that datacard, and get the hell out.

That was the plan, anyway.

 

*

 

It’s the longest turbolift ride you’ve ever been on. You know you’re in trouble by the time you make it to the ‘fresher just outside Palpatine’s office, the one that visitors used en route to one of the conference rooms in the back. The memories are hitting harder, now that you’re alone. You soak a hand towel in icy water and press it to your forehead, the back of your neck, focusing as hard as you can on the shock of cold on your heated skin. It isn’t working.

You stare in the mirror, note the stalls behind you. The _empty_ stalls.

You’re alone. 

An extremely dangerous, extremely _unprofessional_ thought suddenly jumps to center stage. 

You’re _completely_ alone. It’s early evening, and most beings in the Senate building have left, starting their weekends early. And most importantly, Palpatine isn’t in his office. You’d made damn sure of that when you came in. And the little ‘fresher was close enough to the main area that you’d hear if anyone came in…

 _The tram doesn’t get here for two hours. It’s a half hour to my place…_ You’d be in for two and a half hours of _agony_ if you couldn’t derail your _kriffing stupid libido._

So you crack the door and take a quick peek at the main office. It’s empty, so you dart into a stall in the back of the ‘fresher. Still…You listen carefully for a solid minute. When you hear nothing, you sigh with relief, slip your hand underneath your skirt, and let your mind drift back to the Chancellor’s bedroom…

 

*

 

…You hadn’t been able to take all of him, at first. You usually avoided this, after all, so you were a bit out of practice. But you did your best to make up for it, to not leave any part of him wanting.

A sharp, hot thrill had run through you, then. The most powerful man in the galaxy was staring down at you, pale eyes fixed on your mouth. You watched him, _felt_ him, your chest tight. The sheer enormity of what you were doing pressed hot and rough against you. The most powerful man in the galaxy was letting you touch him _there,_ where it could _hurt._

You savored the little jumps and shivers as you laved at him, slicking up his flesh with your own saliva, swirling your tongue around the hot smooth expanse, tasting the ridges and dips. 

Your core throbbed as you licked and teased. As he swelled under your lips, it was all too easy to imagine the thick length pressing into you, slow and deep, stealing your breath. He shuddered at last when you swiped the flat of your tongue along the underside of the head. You drew back a little and smiled up at him wickedly, and licked at the fluid beading at the tip, swirling it up and around the sides, getting him slicker.

Then his hips stuttered forward and his fingers tightened in your hair, but you didn't mind. Much. You squeezed the base just a little harder, then slid back and sucked hard. His groan reverberated all the way down to your bones. You gripped his trousers and braced yourself, shutting your eyes to help yourself relax.

You almost jumped away when a manicured finger stroked down your cheek.

"Y/N…"

Startled, you opened your eyes. He was staring down at you, eyes dark, a light flush staining his cheeks.

He ran his thumb along your cheek, dipped toward where your lips are stretched tight and wet and red around him. You swallow involuntarily as he traced your stretched, overly sensitive lips with one clever finger.

"Look at me."

It was a command.  
You swallowed, your legs suddenly quivering with a hot rush of lust. His fingers tightened, gripping your jaw as you opened your eyes and relaxed your throat. 

His eyes…helped. You hadn’t known that it could, that such fierce, undivided attention could make your insides boil, could flood your core with slick. The only thing you could do was tilt your head back, sliding your hands up his thighs to get a better angle. Your core was clenching around air when you were ready, and you tugged on his trousers, giving permission. 

There was something…sharp about his smile, then. 

_Good._

You nearly gagged as he pressed against the back of your throat. You were out of practice, after all. But your memory served you well…And you’d always been a fast learner. 

You looked up at him when your nose brushed against the soft thatch of pubic hair, your eyes red-rimmed, tearing up at the stretch. You couldn’t exactly _nod;_ your throat was too…full for you to do it comfortably, but…You tapped at his thigh and bobbed your head, hoping he got the message.

His eyes flashed. Hands came up to clutch at your jaw. That helped, too. You breathed in carefully through your nose, and swallowed around him. He _growled,_ and gripped the back of your head, fingers twisting in your hair, pulling you closer. 

And then you could only hold on.

You moved with him, your senses on fire, hyperaware of every slick sound, every sharp breath, your mind numb with the heavy, hot pressure filling your mouth and throat. Your lungs burned – you’d never been terribly good at breathing though your nose while you did this – but it was enough to keep you moving, to keep your eyes open, to watch him watch you take him.

_So tight…_

You grew desperate. You hiked up your skirt and ground against your own hand, your other hand digging so hard in his thigh that you _had_ to be hurting him, but he gave no sign of caring, focused utterly on the curl of your tongue, and the tight sheath of your throat. 

And your eyes. 

You moaned when his thighs tensed. He mouthed a warning, and loosened his grip on your hair, but you wanted him _there,_ you wanted to feel it when he came apart. So you held him close as his pleasure broke, and swallowed him down. You felt his groan all the way down to your bones. Your thighs shook, and you were suddenly struggling to stay upright, but you managed to lick him clean, to ease him onto his back as the tension seeped from his surprisingly firm body. 

Your own body was screaming with need. But as you staggered to your feet, looked down on him, pale and _regal_ in a sea of rich, crumpled fabric, despite the rapid rise and fall of his chest…

Shame like nothing you had ever known crashed over you in sickening waves. You nearly fell, one knee hitting the mattress as you swayed. The Chancellor’s eyes flickered open at your soft sob. 

He reached for you.

“Are you all right?” 

You nodded, too quickly.

Oh, how you wanted to stay. 

But you didn’t belong here. You didn’t get to have…this…

You screwed up your courage, and kissed him on the lips. Just a quick peck. Almost chaste.

And you said goodbye.

 

*

 

_Damn it…_

You sag against the cold wall of the stall, your fingers shining with your slick. It had been going so _well,_ too. 

But when you got to the end…You hadn’t come then, either, not even when you’d gotten back to your apartment. And slumped on your bed, staring at the ceiling, your mind whirring with _what the hell is wrong with you!_

_Focus on the positive, damn it!_

You’re about to try again when you hear a soft _thump_ outside the ‘fresher door. Your heart flies into your throat. 

_That’s the main office._

_Oh no._

You jump up, haul your skirts back into place, and make for the sink. When you’d cleaned your hands (very, _very_ thoroughly) you head to the door, listening. Surely no one was back there…You frown at your chronometer. It was late…who…

You sigh. Nothing else to do but make a break for it.

 _Besides, I have every right to be here,_ you think. _I just need that datacard._

You step out into the hallway and walk back into the main office as quietly as you can.

Not quietly enough. Cloth rustles in the shadows behind you.

“Ms. L/N…” 

“I – I’m sorry!” you gasp. “I just left something – “

You turn. The floor drops out from under you as Chancellor Palpatine rises from the couch. 

“I…I was just…” Words fail you. You want to explain. To apologize. To tell him how he’d made you feel, but…

“Ms…” His lips press into a thin line. “Y/N. I do not believe that we finished out last conversation. I have been meaning to speak to you. Is that…” He hesitates.

You blink, confusion flaring.

“…All right?”

“Yes,” you hear yourself say. “I – I’ve – We need to talk.”

“Good,” he replies. He gestures to the sofa. 

You go to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Reader needs a hug...And another Pleasant Surprise.  
> 2\. Yes, you were quiet, Ms. Reader...But nobody can hide from the Force >:)


End file.
